


Cornflower Blue

by Setting_Fire_to_the_Past



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27871742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setting_Fire_to_the_Past/pseuds/Setting_Fire_to_the_Past
Summary: Yennefer confronts Geralt about his feelings for Dandelion. Geralt finally realizes Dandelion's feelings.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 4
Kudos: 78





	1. Lilac

_I dried cornflowers with dandelions in a blue and white book; but it wasn't a dream._ \- Christine Ueri

“Do you love him?”

Geralt lay haphazardly on the bed, legs dangling, eyes drooping. Yen’s perfume overpowered his senses, bathing him in lilac and gooseberry. He lazily traced his fingers over her skin, feeling her warmth. He could hear her heartbeat, it was surprisingly slow, and he focused on the sound. They were both exhausted. They’d been riding all night, and had only just arrived at Kaer Morhen. Geralt wanted nothing more than to curl into Yen’s embrace and drift to sleep. 

“Do you love him?” Yen repeated, lifting her head to meet Geralt’s half closed eyes.

She wasn’t angry, Geralt didn’t think, her voice was soft and warm. One usually knew when Yennefer was angry, as she made it quite clear. Geralt considered the question, turning over various responses in his mind. He was too tired to have this conversation right now, blast it! He knew Yen wouldn’t allow him the luxury of sleep until he’d answered, however, she rarely let things go. 

He propped himself up, swinging his legs onto the bed and folding them under him so he could sit looking at her as he spoke. She was beautiful. He loved this Yen the most because she was utterly his. No one but Ciri got to see her like this. No ointments and potions. No spells and illusions. She had bags under her eyes. He could see the tenseness of her muscles from days in the saddle. The frizz of her hair before bed. 

“Who?” Geralt finally responded, breaking the silence. 

Yen snorted and rolled her eyes. Even in the warm light of the candle burning low on the dresser they were startlingly purple, glittering in the dark. 

“Don’t be a clod, you know perfectly well who I mean!”

Ah well, it was worth a try. They lapsed back into silence for a while. Yen didn’t push him, simply lay, watching him out of the corner of her eye, waiting. Geralt sighed and hesitantly spoke once more, afraid of angering the sorceress. 

“Would you forbid me from his company? Lock me away? You know that I love you, that I am utterly yours”.

Yen laughed once more, and Geralt realized it was genuine, he was feeling confused now, and much more awake. He felt like they were gearing up for a fight, he just didn’t know about what exactly. 

“Geralt, do you think me a petty child like I once was? Are you afraid I will scare him off? Torment him while your back is turned? I am not asking you what you felt fit to ask of me with Istredd. I will not duel for your affection nor run away again. Is that why you have been so afraid, love?”

Geralt stayed silent, turning her words over in his mind. Was he afraid? Of course, that was simple enough to answer. He had lost Yen so many times, watched her run from him, he had run from her, and yet somehow they always ended up together again. wasn’t it the most natural feeling in the world to fear losing the one you love? But he wasn’t natural, he wasn’t even human, so what was he afraid of?

“You’ll lose him, you know.” Yen continued. “Will you choose me over him when I am not asking you to? Don’t we have an eternity together, Geralt? He has so little time”. 

“I don’t understand Yen, don’t you want me to be yours alone?” 

Geralt could see her searching for the right words. Yen had never been one to share, she had never been one to pause her words and compromise. Geralt wondered when she’d changed, or if perhaps he was one the one who was changing. Finally, Yen spoke, her voice laden with sorrow.

“Do you think that he knows without being told? He isn’t me, Geralt. He can’t read minds or feel emotions”. There was anger creeping into her voice now, a more familiar turn of events for Geralt. “Do you remember Rience?”

Geralt froze, hating the sound of that cursed name. 

“Of course I remember. What does the bastard have to do with this. Can’t we leave some things well enough alone. It’s been years, Yen”.

“Do you know what Dandelion told me after I saved him. He almost died protecting you, Geralt, if you cared, shielding your secrets though he didn’t even know how to get here. He told me his friendship had never done you a lick of good. He told me that I had to warn you! That I had to protect you! Because he brought you naught but trouble. He almost died, Geralt! And the first thing he said was that despite never feeling like he did you a bit of good, he would go and warn you of Rience himself, make the trip here, if I would not”.

Yen’s voice was rising. Geralt’s medallion shook with magic as Yen became more distraught. He calmed her with a touch. Stroking her raven black hair until the medallion’s tremors stopped. The walls of the castle were thick and he was glad for it. Praying Ciri had not chosen tonight to eavesdrop outside their door. Or any of the other Witcher’s for that matter. 

“I’m sorry, Yen” He said quietly, continuing to stroke her hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know”. 

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to, I never have been. I have always known you loved me, for you wished for me the first moment we met. Can’t you see though, how he pines. He has endless praise at his disposal, and yet he never asks for approval from anyone but you. He never has”.

“I know. I can see it. He’s simply confused though, Yen. Can’t you understand. I am but a story to him. He sings sweetly in my presence and pens masterful works of art, he has no one else to turn to in this regard. Who but you could love someone like me? He’s a human, Yen, he isn’t like us. He will grow old and he will die. He doesn’t need his death quickened by the trouble I bring with me”.

Geralt felt Yen stiffen under his touch, he placed his hand back on the bed as she drew away from him. Her power was contained but he could feel her rage bubbling under the surface. Moments from exploding. 

“You think that’s why he risks death for you! That you are simply his muse? Or perhaps you believe yourself to be a curiosity to be explored. That once he tastes you once it will be enough to satisfy his curiosity. Geralt, you’ve heard his poems and songs, don’t flatter yourself on his account. He sings of fucking a baker’s wife in the stable while her husband bakes bread and it brings tears to the eye. He needs no muse, simply a voice of gold and a wandering mind. You speak of quickening his death and yet you’ll string him along on your silly crusades, refusing to cut him from your life. He rode to the dryads doorstep for you. Risked an arrow in the neck to find you. Where is he now, O selfless Witcher who does not meddle in human affairs? Oh, that’s right, he’s down the hall, probably giving a concert to Ciri if she’s still awake. Will you shake him from our daughter’s life as well in the name of safety? Can she, a human, even love you, as she will age and die as well. Or do you believe you can give Ciri your love but not your bard? Are you truly that selfish, that stupid, as to string him along like a dog while you lament his mortality”.

Geralt was starting to get the feeling that he should have just never answered Yen’s question to begin with. It was clear she’d been holding all of this in for far too many years. He only wished she’d chosen to pick this fight on another night. All he really wanted was some cuddling and some kissing and some sleep, but apparently he wouldn't be getting any of these things from Yen, at least not for several hours. He was finding it hard to find intelligent counterarguments to her points, in fact he was finding it hard to think much at all. Maybe if this time he simply didn’t answer, Yen would give up on her yelling and allow him to continue stroking her hair. This seemed to Geralt like the smartest course of events. Unfortunately, Yen, who could of course, read his mind, was having none of that.

“Off” She commanded, sitting up and pointing at the floor.

“What? Yen we’ve been riding all day, can you please just let me sleep. We can have this argument in the morning”.

“Nope. You are getting off this bed. Your options are to sleep on the floor, like that loyal dog of yours you have no regard for, or go find someone less selfish than you who’ll spare a pillow”.

At this point Geralt knew Yen was serious. He also realized that he couldn’t afford half Kaer Morhen being blown up from a little lovers quarrel, or the questions from Vesemir and the other’s when their amulets started buzzing. He resigned himself to a night without sex, and most likely a morning as well, and slid off the bed. Yen was refusing to look at him, pointedly staring at the wall instead. Geralt wished he could hide his thoughts, leave her to stew in his lack of words as he grumply slipped out of the room, but as usual, his mind got the better of him. He knew that among his grumblings and swears. She would find that he was mostly thinking that he loved her and that one night without her was a small price to pay for the knowledge that he would wake up to find her still there, despite whatever they fought about.

As Geralt stood outside the door he wondered where he should go. He could find an empty room and hole up there, but most of the beds were dilapidated and uncomfortable. They’d recently started replacing more furniture in the castle. While he didn’t care much, it seemed to matter to Triss and Yen, so he indulged them in this matter. While he supposed any bed would do, his muscles ached and he couldn’t imagine how much worse it would be without some amount of proper sleep. He slipped over to Ciri’s room, padding softly. They had slept curled together when she was younger. There were some days when the nightmares overtook them and they sought refuge with each other, even now. However, when he reached Ciri's room he found her fast asleep, her mousy hair splayed out behind her. She looked so peaceful and Geralt was loath to wake her, as he knew any presence or slightest sound would, so he crept away. He debated finding Eskel for a second, then sighed, knowing logically, there was only one option for getting sleep. He padded down the hall back past his and Yen’s room, stopping at a large door. He knocked quietly and waited. He realized suddenly how ridiculous he looked. It was the middle of the night and here he was shirtless, wearing only breeches, kicked out of his own room in his own home. 

The door opened a crack, and there, peering out at him with cornflower blue eyes, was Dandelion.


	2. Dandelion

_Yet in my dreams, we amble through bright fields_

_Where cornflowers and blue linseed softly grow_ \- Katherine Braithwaite

Dandelion peered out at Geralt. He was wearing a light green robe that fell right above his knees, meant for sleeping. His hair was pulled up in as much of a ponytail as it could handle, being only shoulder length. Evidently it was to keep it out of his eyes, although strands fell into his face regardless. His lute, Geralt noticed with surprise, was strung over his shoulder. Evidently this was why he had heard Geralt’s knock, as Dandelion was quite a heavy sleeper. He did not look nearly as surprised to see Geralt as Geralt imagined he would be.

“Ah, Geralt. Had a lover’s quarrel already? That’s what you get from the wily sorceress”.

Geralt could not bring himself to answer, after a tense second he simply nodded. 

“Well, who am I to deny a dear friend a bed to rest upon”, Dandelion mused, opening the door as he welcomed Geralt in.

Although they’d only arrived that night, Dandelion’s desk was covered in papers and quills. He must have been having trouble with some poem or song, hence the lute. Geralt walked to the bed and sat, still saying nothing. 

“Ah, right”, Dandelion said, glancing at the lute, which he must have seen Geralt eying. “Don’t worry your head about it. I can see you’re in bad shape. The lyrics aren’t coming to me anyways, I’ll retire for the night so as not to keep you up with my babbling”. He lifted the lute strap over his shoulder and placed it on the desk.

“Don’t bother”. Geralt finally spoke, his harsh voice felt grating to his own ears after hearing Dandelion’s lyrical tone. “Play as much as you like, I don’t mind it. I’ve gotten used to it enough to sleep through any sounds you may make.”

“Right, good then”. 

Dandelion turned back to the desk, sitting in the chair and picking up the lute. Geralt was already starting to drift to sleep, lulled by Dandelion’s quiet singing. He drifted in and out of consciousness for a while, unable to discern Dandelion’s words. He realized during one of these periods of restless wakefulness that the songs had changed somewhat. Before, Geralt was sure Dandelion had been singing something rather lewd and comical, a merry jig to take on the road. Now though, he was singing about Geralt. 

It was the ballad of the first adventure they’d had together, the elves at the end of the world, but something was different this time. Geralt must have heard the song hundreds of times, he had it almost memorized at this point, although he would never admit such a thing to the troubadour. Dandelion was singing a new verse however, a modified version of the ballad. 

Geralt realized with a start what had changed. He almost sat up in bed, but forced himself to lay still, controlling his heartbeat and breathing. Dandelion was singing the truth. Instead of a rousing story of adventure, the Witcher escaping his binds and slaying the elves, saving the day, Dandelion sang of the girl who appeared to spare them. Of where he got his lute. Of the murder and pillaging of elven lands. Of the bodies that fed the crops and fertilized the land. It was an unbearably sad song fitting of an unbearably sad tale. Geralt had always assumed that Dandelion sang so many lies that somewhere along the way, he forgot what was truth and what was fiction. But now, Geralt could hear how much the truth of their adventures pained him, and how much Dandelion remembered of them, perhaps even more than Geralt. Geralt assumed Dandelion would stop, rest his voice, but he launched directly into another tale. On and on he sang, mournfully, regretfully. Of Geralt’s broken leg and Milva’s misscariage. Of war and grief, of pain and oh, of longing. He sang only of Geralt, and Geralt, Geralt listened. 

Finally he came to a rest, placing the lute on the table and walking towards the bed where Geralt lay, pretending to be asleep. He sat on the bed besides Geralt and Geralt could feel Dandelion's blue eyes on him. 

“Geralt?”

Dandelion’s voice was soft, hesitant. Geralt held his breath, remaining absolutely silent.

“That’s what I thought”. Dandelion sighed and shifted on the bed. “I suppose it’d be bloody embarrassing if you were awake. Listening to me talk and sing to myself like a madman, but I wouldn’t mind it much at all, to hear your voice”.

Geralt knew Dandelion well enough that his silence would encourage further talk, for if there was one thing Dandelion excelled at it was talking. And he was correct. 

“I never thought you’d ask me here, y’know. After all I can’t defend myself, defend your secrets, you know that well enough. But you did I suppose and I came after all so here I am with Yen’s leftovers. I get you when she’s had enough of you I suppose, that’s the way it’s always been”. Dandelion paused, waiting for some kind of response, but received nothing. He lay down, rolling over so he didn’t have to look at Geralt. “Good night, old friend”.

As soon as Dandelion had rolled over, Geralt followed suit, wrapping his arms around Dandelion’s chest and burrowing his head into Dandelion’s hair, which he had let down so it covered his neck. Geralt felt Dandelion stiffen under him.

“Geralt, do you think me Yennefer perhaps? I should think our chest sizes alone vary too greatly for such a mistake but perhaps you are too horny and exhausted to see who lies before you. Do you enjoy taunting a tired bard? Allow me to sleep without your teasing”. 

Geralt could’ve sworn Dandelion was angry at him, although he very rarely was and it was hard to be sure. Dandelion tended to be quite a yeller so his soft words and resigned attitude left Geralt searching for what emotion Dandelion was feeling. 

“Dandelion?”

“Yes, Geralt, who else but me would put up with your games? What is it?”

“Will you answer one question for me? That’s all I ask. Will you answer just one?”

“I would answer a thousand questions for you. You know very well that you supply every tale to me when asked, do you think I am incapable of repaying debts? Ask, Geralt”.

“What do you believe I think of you? Tell me honestly, how would you categorize my feelings towards you? Will you answer this for me?”

Dandelion was silent for so long Geralt began to fear he may have drifted off to sleep, or simply chosen not to answer despite his previous promise of honesty, but eventually, Dandelion spoke.

“You have asked me to speak truthfully and so I will. I believe you pity me, Geralt. I believe you are so very kind. I know this is seldom a word used in descriptions of you, I’m sure you scoff at the thought, too caught up in being a mutant, I know you protest labels of humanity. Nevertheless, Geralt of Rivia, you are so kind that you do not forbid me from following you across the land. You give me access to your home, your stories, your life. Despite the fact that I am an awful blabbermouth who can’t keep a secret. Despite the fact that I am a dead weight at your heels, that I force you into troublesome situations. Despite all this you are kind enough not to reject me, to scorn me. You allow me to play my lute long into the night and lie, saying it will not keep you up, not trouble you. For you are too kind to tell me that Witcher’s do not need poetry and music and that is about all I can provide. This is what I believe you think of me. No need to argue the point, for I am convinced it is only courtesy that would have you refute me”.

Geralt was silent for even longer, pondering Dandelion’s words. He supposed in the end, Yen had been right after all. He owed her an apology, or he supposed Yen wasn’t the person he owed an apology to.

“Do you know what me and Yen were fighting about?” He finally asked. Dandelion hadn’t asked, despite his insatiable curiosity he often left things for Geralt to explain in his own time, which Geralt was grateful for. Dandelion said nothing so Geralt continued.

“We were fighting about you, Dandelion, about my so called kindness, or obvious lack thereof”.

Geralt waited, no response, he couldn’t remember the last time Dandelion had been silent for so long. 

“I’m sorry. All I can ask is your forgiveness, dear friend. I am so very sorry that I have allowed you to think such things for so long. Will you forgive me?”

“I will forgive you for anything and everything, but I do not understand your apology. I have told you, there is no need for further kindness. I can accept what I am to you”. 

“Dandelion, what you are to me is a very dear friend. The dearest friend I have in all the world. I know that every time I have asked you to turn back, to abandon me, I have wounded you grievously, and for that I can never apologize enough. I remember the first time I saw you bleed, that arrow to the head. You were wounded on my account. How could I ask you to continue with me, when every step meant grave danger? I think that a beautiful voice and lively spirit are the most precious things in the world. They must be protected - you must be protected. I do not know what I would do if any harm befell you on my account. How I could live with myself. You have seen how I treat those I do not wish to travel with. Perhaps you are right that I allow myself to be caught up with many people I initially dislike, but I can also say with absolute honesty that this has never been the case with you. I could ask for no better a companion and no better a friend. I have never lied to you, Dandelion, and I never will, for you mean far too much to me and I could not bring myself to deceive you”.

Dandelion said nothing to what Geralt felt was probably the most honest he'd ever been with anyone. He simply lay there, facing away from Geralt. Geralt began to feel guilty over his sudden declaration. He was certainly making it harder for Dandelion to sleep.

“I - I’m going to go”. Geralt slipped off the bed and stood awkwardly.

“I shouldn’t have bothered you so late at night. It would have been better to sleep on the floor, or in one of the empty rooms. I’m sorry for disturbing you, Dandelion. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your singing or upset you with questions. I hope you rest well. Good night”. 

“Wait”. Dandelion reached across the bed and grabbed Geralt's arm. “Please wait”.

Geralt turned and realized suddenly why Dandelion had said nothing. His face was streaked with tear stains. His eyes glistened and the skin around them was red and puffy. Geralt wondered how long he had been crying silently. 

“Fuck. Dandelion I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Gods, I’m such a dick, I’m sorry. I seem to be pissing off everyone tonight, making a right mess of things”.

Dandelion laughed, releasing Geralt’s arm. “Really, Geralt. Fuck. That’s what you have to say. I can see why the ladies love you. You’re a real pinnacle of emotional maturity and eloquence”. Dandelion started to hiccup as he laughed, causing Geralt to burst out laughing as well. He turned and sat back on the bed as they both continued to break out into fits of laughter. Eventually they managed to calm down and Dandelion’s hiccups subsided slightly. Finally Dandelion spoke.

“You didn’t make a mess of things you know, and I’m not mad. You’ve just never said anything like that to me. I don’t really know how to take it. May I ask you one question? Since I answered yours will you answer mine?”

“Of course, have I ever withheld what you’ve asked of me? I will answer every question you may have, now and forever, bard. Ask”.

“Geralt, what do you believe I think of you? This is my question. Will you answer this for me?”

Geralt snorted, “I suppose I should’ve seen that one coming. Fair’s fair I guess”. His face grew more serious as he pondered. 

“I believe you think me fascinating. That you hunger for adventure and movement and inspiration and I am all of these things. I believe you value my opinion, few do but you it seems. I believe you will grow tired of this game you play. That you will realize a life with me is an invitation for a premature death. And I believe you will leave me soon, grow bored of me, sometimes I wish you would so that I would not have to see you die, one day”.

Once again Dandelion held his tongue, and the silence stretched on. Geralt hoped he was not crying again. He wondered, suddenly, how many times Dandelion had lain besides him and sobbed while Geralt did nothing, made no move to comfort him. With this sudden and horrible thought, Geralt once again wrapped his arms around Dandelion, and this time, Dandelion did not protest. 

“It appears it is my turn to apologize, old friend. Although I am not sure whether to be sorry or angry beyond measure. Did I not tell you I would never leave without you, that I would never leave you? When we were almost trampled by horses, you bid me to go. If I refused then, when the horrible evidence of my mortality stared me in the face, what would possess me to leave you now, when I see you happy and content. You may believe that the more exciting the adventure the more likely I am to accompany you, but did I hesitate when you offered me a place in your home? When I see you with Ciri, with Yen, nothing in the world makes me happier. When I arrived here, to this ghastly creepy castle. Despite the strange graveyards and drafty windows. Despite dilapidated beds and far too much dust. Despite your somewhat creepy, if I’m being honest, siblings. I thought to myself, arriving here, perhaps I will not run away this time, perhaps I could make a life here. I did not ask you to be truthful in your answer. You said you would never lie to me and I took those words to heart. But now, I fear I keep much from you and am dishonest in the worst kind of way. I have lied to you, Geralt, for so many years. I have lied and lied and lied because I was so deathly afraid you would stop tolerating me. That you would disappear, run off here, with Yen, leaving me behind”.

“Dandelion, would you speak honestly if I swore that I have nowhere left to run? You have my whole life in your possession. Things I have told no one but you. I could not run from you even if I wished it, for I know we would be drawn together by something akin to destiny, although I don’t believe in such things, I know I could not run from you, never from you. So speak, I am here to listen”. 

Geralt was still holding Dandelion tight. The bard had curled up into himself, and Geralt could hear his quiet sobs. Geralt released Dandelion so he could sit up and look at him. He slowly lifted an arm, bringing it to Dandelion’s face and wiping a tear from his cheek.

“Shhhhhhh. It’s all right, I’m here. I’m not running, see. I’m not leaving. Speak, Julian. I’m right here. You don’t have to be afraid”. 

Dandelion's breath hitched at the sound of his name. Geralt had never said it aloud. Even after Dandelion had told him, Geralt had left it unspoken. 

“Geralt?”

“Yes, Julian?”

“You promise you won’t run away? You won’t hate me?”

“I promise”. 

Geralt moved his hand from Dandelion’s cheek and started running his hands through the bard's soft hair. He marveled at the texture, which was so unlike Yennefer’s hair. While hers was silky and shiny, constantly being combed and fussed over, Dandelion’s was soft and fluffy, tangling in his hands as Geralt slowly undid knots and worked his way through the frizz. 

“Geralt?”

“Yes, I’m right here, Julian”.

“I love you”.

Geralt froze, his hand still tangled in Dandelion’s hair. He could feel the bard's heart, it was beating so fast it felt almost like it would leap out of his chest, or perhaps that was Geralt’s own heart he felt, he couldn’t seem to distinguish them. He understood, of course, why Dandelion had been afraid, the troubadour knew Geralt better than anyone, and currently, all Geralt wanted to do was run, but he had made a promise. 

“Geralt?”

“Yes, Dandelion?”

“I’m sorry, it was a foolish mistake on my part. I’m sorry”.

“What could you ever have to be sorry for?”

Geralt leaned over Dandelion to stare at his cornflower blue eyes, twinkling with tears. Dandelion turned as well to stare up at Geralt, new tears making their way down his face. Geralt leaned forward, staring at the bard. Dandelion smelled like wet ink and salt. Geralt was reminded of that night by the sea many years ago. He had fallen asleep to Essie and Dandelion singing together and had thought it the most beautiful sound in all the world. He had thought it because of Essie at the time, but now, looking at Dandelion, he was sure it had been because of his voice, which Geralt never seemed to tire of. 

Slowly, hesitantly, Geralt brought his lips to Dandelion’s, and they kissed. It was so different than any other kiss Geralt had experienced. There was no need for violence or passion. There was no lack of time. They kissed so softly and so gently that when they finally parted Geralt was sure it must have been a dream. 

“Julian?”

“Yes, Geralt, I’m right here”.

“I love you too”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, maybe I'll end up writing more of this fic at some point if people wanted me too, I'm not really sure about the ending.


End file.
